


Ubbe Imagines

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, F/M, NSFW Art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Written for a user on tumblr whose husband was deployed, based upon Letters from War by Mark Schultz





	1. You'll Always be my Princess || NSFW

“Are you almost ready to go, princess?”

Ubbe steps beside his pretty princess in a vast master bathroom. His onyx suit was pressed and perfect for the night’s event. A stupid one between all of his mother’s children in which they would walk around and act minimally interested in their support of several different companies. Booze and dancing, that was what this meant. You could feel the buckle of his pants grinding up against the slender black dress you wore for the night’s gala.

“Almost ready, Daddie.” You say. He takes up his scotch that sits to the side of your many makeup palettes, only the best. Ubbe slips your hair from your shoulder, taking up a glittering clear choker of diamonds to slide around your throat. The choker straps tight against your neck. It elicits a moan of your glossy lips, receiving a firm swat to the back of your ass shortly afterwards.

“Then let’s go. Be a good girl.” Ubbe moves away for you to slip on your high heels. With a clack of your heels, you slipped out of the door. Then– Ubbe stops you for a moment.

“Before we go– I almost forgot.” He scratches his beard, walking over to the nightstand beside the king sized bed you shared with him.

“Guess what I found?” Ubbe withdrew a paper. The one that you quickly recognize as a blaring ‘75’ on your math exam. You audibly groan, having thought you had stashed that one well enough in your thick binder between all the textbooks, powerpoints and notes.

“Daddie you were snooping!” You complain.

He tsks his tongue, withdrawing a black thin cane. “Daddie doesn’t pay your school for you to bring home ‘C’s’.” He flips the cane in his fingers, leading the tip of the cane against the long slit of your skirt. The black of the dress contrasts against your skin. Ubbe flicks his head over to the bed.

“Present.”

You dare to whine. “But I got a 90 on my other one.” You flutter those elaborate, but false eyelashes at him. He knows all your tricks to get out of a whipping. Distracting him doesn’t usually work anymore but you still try.

“Don’t make me tell you again.” His gruff voice becomes heated.

Yes, sir.

It gladdens him when you crawl onto the bed, legs tucked tight. The smooth fabric of Ubbe’s slacks brushes the outside of your thighs on either side of your hips. Ubbe would glide your tight skirt slowly over your thighs, taking his time to reveal your ass cheeks that don his favourite baby pink thong that only highlights that fantastic ass. Ubbe’s index and middle finger rub against your entrance, gliding down the slit before back up.

“Count.” Ubbe grunts. The first was always the hardest. The first crack of the cane sent your lips reeling out a cry. One, you told him. He was satisfied enough because the second came soon after. Two, you followed up with, hands bunching up in the egyptian cotton sheets. Your ass burns under the sting of the cane. Ubbe’s toned arms flex another stinging strike, making contact against a welt that had already begun to form. Three! There was never any telling how many Ubbe would inflict.

You knew one thing as your cries filled through the room. Ubbe enjoyed it. His cock was twitching underneath those thin trousers, the neutral tone of your skin now angry by the force of his arms. “Twent… twenty daddie!” 

Ubbe gave out a groan, flicking the cane on the bed and doing as he usually did, palming the raised skin as if it would soothe you. “Did you like that princess?”

His thick fingers slid your pink thong to the side, a trail of excitement stains them. His fingers spread your lips out for him, engorged with excitement. He was slipping in your sweetness that slickened you just for him. Alluring.

“Yes.”

Something cold soaks in your slick. “Yes what?”

“Yes Daddie.” You correct yourself. Anything you could say is quickly cut off by gasping when a sticky cool slick spills over your ass. You immediately know what it is and what is coming. The pressure of feeling full, spreading around a pinkish jeweled plug. His other fingers hook inside your folds, distracting you as he pushes it to the hilt within you. Ubbe plunges his fingers in and out of your soaked walls for good measure, pulling out as your lips spread into a moan.

Short lived– and agonizing, Ubbe shoves his fingers into your mouth. Your glossy lips purse around his fingers, cleaning him of your juices. Your tongue swirled around his digits in smooth strokes. His fingers would slide free of your lips, dragging saliva down your chin. Disgusting. Ubbe chides, giving a final slap to your ass before sliding off of you. You replace your thong and draw down the so claimed modest skirt.

“Now this time,” Ubbe walks into the bathroom to wash his hands of the smell of your pussy. He adjusts his tie, head craning toward you as he comes back out. “You’re going to be a good girl… and not only when Daddie is looking. Now lets go, Ivar is waiting.”

Ubbe offers his palm out for you to take. Just maybe you are stunted by the metal in your ass. “Yes Daddie.”


	2. Ubbe + Ivar || Brother Husbands

Are you sure?

“Second thoughts, Ubbe? I can keep our little girl to myself.”

They weren’t second thoughts as much as Ubbe was making sure. Making sure they were on the same page, that as he fixed Ivar’s tie, they knew they were in this for the long haul.

Brother-Husbands.

The name made Ivar roll his eyes. He was enjoying her with his brother— because she wanted the both of them. If she wanted both, Ivar would give her both.

“Shut up, brother. She’s ours to share. Like you promised.” Ubbe steps away to take a once over of himself in this slender dark suit.

Ivar grunts in agreement, taking his crutch up. “Let’s go marry our bride.”


	3. Come Out to Play I

The wolf had been set free.

Fenrir was set upon Kattegat, prowling, searching. The leaves were crunching under your bare feet as you cast yourself down the orange and brown hill, slapping your hands against crunchy bark with rippling smacks to slow your velocity.

The wolf was quicker. His breath came out in sharp huffs, taking in the fall air through his flaring nostrils. Your torn and tattered skirts wore a dirty cream quality where once they were white, droplets of heavy blood dribbling down to stain your dress. You had just wanted to save him– to do what was set upon. Cast out the wolf, the alpha of the normally sweet smiled prince. Instead, something much deeper had come out.

There was no changing an alpha. He was what he was. Insatiable: seeking out women for miles to breed, leaving children in his wake and killing those that stood in his way. You feared the same fate.

“Did you think you could hide?” The voice came from just the other side of the oak tree. Your head snaps like something spring loaded, eyes caught in wild blue eyes. Ubbe’s eyes were so dilated, you could only see a thin film of his typical brilliant blue eyes. His mouth wide, baring at you like the beast you mistakenly tried to set free back to hel. You drop the charm around your nape, jagged bloody indentions on your hand.

“I… I should have kept you collared up.” You take a wary step back. Ubbe’s head tilts just so, daring you to run while taking a step forward. The wolf tricked you. Let me out, he said. I would never hurt a beta.

“There is no where left to run.” His voice rumbles through the forest. The rabbits and creatures of the forest have known when to run. “Not from an alpha.”

“I thought I could save… save you.”

You know you can’t run. No, that would be suicide. In place of running, your hand shakily raises. Ubbe’s teeth part for a rumbling growl to sheer up his throat, blood from the thralls he tore dripping down his face. That wasn’t Ubbe. Not your sweet, sweet Ubbe.

“Oh, it’s far too late for that…” Ubbe reaches out, pulling the red hood off of your head. He fists it around his fist, claws tight as he uses your hood to pull you close. “I’m here to eat you up.”

You were wrong, you were so– so wrong. Now, it was time to pay the price.


	4. Come Out to Play II || NSFW

Scratches have a tendency of burning when they’re from an alpha.

At first, they start like teasing little slices. You can hardly feel them until they’re deep against your hips, bleeding over your tattered dress. Your blood red hood is torn to bits, the same with your dress, barely clinging on over your curves. Splinters of wood break off in your hands, hips tight between its firm trunk and the monster raging behind you.

You had never been with an alpha. You didn’t know the swell of his cock– the sheer size. Impossibly large, more than the betas or omegas you teased around with while claiming Alphas were harmful to society. You now knew the impossible stretch around his cock as he rutted his prick deeply inside of you. Your cheek was tight against the wood as Ubbe hovered over you, teeth bared.

“Open your mouth.” Ubbe holds your cheek in between his clawed fingers. The other contained your hips in a vice like grip, hips forcing his cock to sear deep into your moistening vaginal walls. At first– it was hard. Blood coated his cock. The more you forced yourself to focus, the easier it became. Your lips spread willingly for Ubbe. A pleased, almost teasing rumble slides up his throat as he angles your chin towards him.

“Good little beta.” He rumbles. “I know you are not made for this. But maybe you could get used to taking fat cocks.”

A helpless whimper slides up your throat as Ubbe’s thumbs force your jaw apart at the cheek, drooling a long line of his saliva into your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, thick with unrepentant disgust as he releases you by shoving your head back into the oak. His hands come back to their place on your hips. Your walls begin to feel raw by the force of his thrusts an sheer size but finally– he begins to twitch within you.

You’re almost glad for it. You would have been, if not for the ring of muscle growing at the base of his cock. He forces you to take his thrusts as you squirm. “I’m not your breeding bitch!” You squeal and for all that fuss, Ubbe laughs. He pumps his seed in ropes within your body, kissing the cervix and filling you even as you push your hands back on him. He tightly pulls your hands behind your back, the knot doing the work of keeping you on him. He leans in close.

“My knot really doesn’t care what you think you are, (Y/N). It makes you what you are; a bitch.”


	5. His Reason to Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a user on tumblr whose husband was deployed, based upon Letters from War by Mark Schultz

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c76520109b98cca6ca855784f8f01155/tumblr_pi43fj4VVM1v19l0n_500.jpg)

The seat beside you at the dinner table was empty. It kissed the white tablecloth, pristine despite the wine that fell heavy in your stomach. The roses Ivar bought you warm the middle of the table, contrasting against your full plate of the food you slaved so long upon. Thanksgiving lunch left little to be thankful for in his pessimistic eyes. There you sat with your hair in the ever perfect curl, claiming that at any moment, what if your Ubbe came in. The letter beside fallen petals had reason to think otherwise, illuminated by a brightness of a crystal chandelier sitting above your head.

“He could still come home. The war isn’t over.” Aslaug breaches the silence. Sigurd knew better than to open his lips at this time. Ivar… his mother’s hand was affixed to his thigh as if to tell him to hush. Hvitserk is the only one eating much at all and of course, you encouraged him to do so.

“If anyone would come home, it would be my Ubbe.” You murmur, swirling your glass around. A bit of alcohol drops on the crinkled paper. The water sags the ink.

“Don’t be stupid like Ubbe, mother. He is probably dead.” Ivar says ignorant of the state of mind you, Ubbe’s wife of five years, might be feeling. “Who goes to fight in a war to save someone else?”

You say nothing to Ubbe’s beloved little brother, excusing yourself as you push your seat out with a loud crackle across the ground. Taking your plate, you move to the kitchen, leaving the tear stained letter undefended.

At one time, the letters were long and sweet things.

_You’re what I’m fighting for, he would write._

_You’re so silly_ , you would write back.

But now, all those sweet things were forgotten. This letter, stamped with messy cursive and a name that was very much not his big brothers, sat as the focus of the Thanksgiving dinner. Ivar reaches out for the letter– the noise of plates whizzing to their deaths against the creamy walls, donned in the lovely white and military wedding photos from years ago.

**Ubbe asked me to write you.**

**He was captured, but regardless, he set me free.**

**Yours truly,**

**B.Heahmund.**

* * *

The leaves churned colour and fell from the trees cradling your country home. Tragedy has a way of compounding itself when no one was prepared. Aslaug’s ashes found their way onto the Christmas mantle this year of bitter circumstance. Your home suddenly went from a one person home to that of a two person one with Ivar’s presence. Nosy little Ivar who could not help himself. He had to see what you were writing Ubbe– when he was very likely dead.

You’re such a brave man. What a father you’ll be someday, one of the letters addressed to his brother said. Unbeknownst to Ivar, the little words made their way onto each and every letter you sent, an agreement upon the last time you caught Ubbe’s electric eyes at the full airport with many a soldier saying goodbye to their beloveds.

_“When you make it home, we’ll have a baby.” You held his hands at the security gate, fingers laced as you tippy toed up, kissing him gently on his lips in his fine fitting camouflage. Through his kiss, you felt his bright smile._

_“Is that a promise?” He pulls back, drifting his hand over the curve of your hips to the small of your back._

_“I’ve never known a better man to be a father.”_

Now those memories seem far– chilly winters don’t only seem to last through March. They’re far reaching. Everyone in your family insisted Ubbe Ragnarsson was gone. He wasn’t coming back. Yet every night, you scuffed your knees by praying and believing, hoping every day that it wasn’t true. Never did you miss the opportunity to write him one letter.

Ivar’s eyes fell upon Ubbe’s last letter, framed in the kitchen while his so deemed window took brunch outside to the gardens Ubbe had been so proud of once upon a time. Bushes of bursting roses and other fragrant flowers tickle his nose like the first time he came out to see Ubbe planting them.

_“Why are you making her a stupid garden? Isn’t that a lot of work from her when you’re gone?” He asked._

_“Maybe.” Ubbe said. “But it will give her something to hope for.”_

He always thought hope was the stupidest of human emotion. It never worked for him. But when with you, it seems different. Almost like– there was something to hope for. Ivar sat with his law books wide open on the table while you wrote another, your pen scratching upon the dark tiles. Distantly, he heard the whirr down the driveway. At first he thought nothing of it. Nor did you, really, until it became unable to ignore. You straightened out your skirt as you came around to unlock the side of the wooden gate.

“Oh gods, no!” Your sudden sob bursts through the back, causing Ivar’s head to snap around. You collapse onto the ground as if the world was churning under an earthquake only you can feel. He lurches for his crutch under the sound of metal slamming, the car door. Finally, the day must have came that a man came to bring you condolences and a flag. The strangers steps quicken, your sobs sharpen.

He sees it before you do– a crisp uniform of shining golden buttons against blue that holds his chest tight. His white belt wraps around his waist, matching his slacks. The man’s snowy hat upon his head hoods those eyes– ones you would clearly recognize if your hands weren’t digging into your eyes so horribly.

“(Y/N).” His gruff, deep voice snaps your head up. “I thought you would be happy to see me with all these letters you sent me.”

Ivar relaxes back in his chair as your hands leave your face, thrusting around Ubbe’s neck with such force that his best uniform streaks with stains of the lush grass underneath the both of your bodies. The fat envelopes of bound together letters falls from the captain’s white gloves.

“Ubbe, you’re home!”

He gives a hearty laugh, full of all of the glee he ever had. Ubbe looks up to Ivar, nodding once in acknowledgement before looking back down to you. “I’ve come to make good on your promise.”

Ivar slides his books shut, bringing his hands behind his head as Ubbe stands with your hips against his, proud in his military best. It’s the first time he ever believed in hope.


	6. Injured Prince

As a Christian, you were already in a bad place.

This was a place of devils, and the worst of them, Ivar the Boneless. The first day they captured you, you thought it would be the end of your sweet virginity. With the dark prince himself holding your wrists down and Hvitserk– as you came to know him– fighting your legs apart.

But it wasn’t.

“Get off.” Ubbe had booted his honey haired brother off of your twisting limbs. Ivar’s fun was slashed apart when the younger prince helped you to your feet. The women around you clamoured for help also, but the eldest prince touched your cheek. The blood splattered thing was soft despite his war born callouses. When he looked back to his brothers, you didn’t recognize anything else he said. But, maybe you didn’t need words. Instead his soft touch guided you to safety.

It had been still since earlier. It was late. You should not have been out of bed, fetching cool water and rags torn from the bottom of your down to deal with what, in your mind, had to be dealt with. Some time later there was a groan on the other side of the door. It churned open with a hissing creak. Your eyes snatch with your bucket, unable to look up. Today was not the time to be shy.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, turning his head down both ways of the hall. A braver woman would have spoken immediately. You waver, puffing out a small breath as you muster all the courage in your bones up to speak.

“You’re hurt.”

He pulls you into the room, shutting the door with a click. Prince Hvitserk is asleep on the bed, still in his armour. The brothers must have been exhausted if both had simply collapsed. Even Prince Ubbe hadn’t changed out of his clothes. He smells distinctly of splattered, irony blood and thick sweat.

When you finally turn your eyes up to his, he leans over you with his braid draped over his shoulder. It’s a nasty wound that brews in red blood. The swelling puffs his eye in deep purples and tinted reds. If looking at it was any justice, you knew that Ubbe was in pain.

And no other thrall had come to his aid.

“What is it you have there?” Ubbe says as you take your vase, setting it down to the cold, stone floor.

“It’s a tea. For the wound.” You look to his empty cup that sits on a table, taking it to pour a mixture of vervain, thistle and mugwort. He takes it of your fingers, swirling it around between his thumb and middle finger, slightly dangling.

“You made this why?” He asks turning up his eyebrows. You offer up the water to him. In a world where all of the slaves had turned to Ivar’s will, you had stood alone outside of him. Ubbe holds your eyes in a stringently awkward gaze. His eyes were sharp as they search for any sign of a lie, but you offer none and submissively turn your eyes away.

“You saved me.” You answer.

There’s a quiet when Ubbe finally recedes back into a large chair, draping his forearms over the arms. He brings the cup to his lips for a swig, hissing at the bitterness of the bland tea.

“Come. Someone will see.” He allows you to approach his side. You set the bucket atop of the table and fetch the rags made of strips from your dress, dipping them into the cool water. Your hands are shaking so violently, you curse them for their errant ways. A son of Ragnar is as scary as the demons at the command of the devil.

Ubbe realizes his eyes have been unnecessarily harsh. He softens, firming your shuddering hand around his bloodied cheekbones. Your fingertips obey your movements against the crescent of his swollen face.

“Does it hurt much? I bet it does.” You try to make small talk. After all, the lift of a thrall was very lonely. It was hard days work with little to no pay off at the end of it. Some thralls received the pleasure of marriage and others slept with the princes. You were neither. A quiet, shy girl whose only pleasure was paying back the deed Ubbe had done.

“It’s nothing that won’t heal.” Ubbe doesn’t bat an inch as you dampen your cloth. The clear water deepens with dark blood. “But you’ve done worse. You’ve disobeyed Ivar.”

He points out the command that hadn’t missed his ears. All thralls would let the older princes see what it is like to be disobedient. The disobedient would not get the treats and love that Ivar had to offer. They would struggle.

Except, you had disobeyed him.

“It’s okay. I’m getting really used to whippings.” You gaze over his wounds. They have clotted, but still protest your cleaning. You swipe the clean rags over the blood dripping into Ubbe’s ruddy beard. Thick facial hair helps your problem none. Still as you clean him, you know that this could have very dangerous consequences. But at least, in your heart, you would know you did the right thing. Ubbe drops his head back away from the rag.

“Stay the night here.” Ubbe says while you step away from him.

“Here?” You say. Were you hearing things right? Ubbe stands back up, downing the rest of that bitter, awful tea.

“In our bed.” Ubbe makes his way back to the bed. WIth a small grunt of approval he disappears back to where his brother is. Before long, you hear both brothers snoring away in the dead of night. Strike two for why Ubbe confused you.

Why did he keep trying to rescue you? It was a question you wished you could answer. Just like you wished you had the courage to climb into their bed. The cold corner looks much more comfortable.

So you sleep on the floor that night.


End file.
